;-NRLF 


B    3    3ME 


BEYOND  THE  STARS 


BY  CHARLES  HANSON  TOWNE 

BEYOND  THE  STARS 

MANHATTAN 

YOUTH 

THE  QUIET  SINGER 


BEYOND  THE  STARS 

And  Other   Poems 

by 
CHARLES  HANSON  TOWNE 


NEW  YORK 

MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 
MCMXIII 


Copyright  11)13  by  Mitchell  Kcnnerley 


To 

William  Dean  Howeils 


305240 


For  the  privilege  of  reprinting  the 
poems  in  this  volume,  the  author 
thanks  the  editor  of  Harper's  Maga 
zine,  The  Century,  Collier's  Weekly, 
Poetry,  The  Smart  Set,  Munsey's, 
The  Bookman,  Lippincott's,  Ains- 
lee's,  Good  Housekeeping,  The  For 
um,  The  Designer,  and  Town  Topics. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

BEYOND  THE  STARS  n 

PEACE  I5 

AERE  PERENNWS  19 

A  BALLAD  OF  SHAME  AND  DREAD  27 

LOVE  HATH  A  CHALICE  35 

THE  SWORD  36 

TWO  SONGS  OF  LONDON  37 

/.     LONDON  UNVISITED  (1910)  37 

//.     LONDON  FACES  (1911)  39 

AN  EASTER  CANTICLE  4I 

APRIL  MADNESS  43 

WAITING  44 

THE  HEIGHTS  45 

HOW  SOFTLY  RUNS  THE  AFTERNOON  46 

THE  HARDEST  OF  THE  SEA  48 

GLORY  SHALL  FOLLOW  GLORY  50 

AN  AUGUST  NIGHT  IN  THE  CITY  52 

DUST  AND  DREAM  53 

NEVERTHELESS  54 

RISEN  INDEED  56 

THE  MYSTERY  57 

PENANCE  5g 

77/E  POOL  S9 

YOUTH  IS  CRUEL  60 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  DEAD  MARCH  61 

SUNDAY  63 

THE  RUSH  HOUR  65 

THE  TWO  OLD  MEN  67 

ANNIVERSARIES  69 

NOEL  70 

THE  LAST  SLEEP  73 


BEYOND  THE  STARS 


BEYOND  THE  STARS 

'"TpHREE  days  I  heard  them  grieve  when  I  lay 
-••  dead. 

(It  was  so  strange  to  me  that  they  should  weep!) 
Tall  candles  burned  about  me  in  the  dark, 
And  a  white  crucifix  was  on  my  breast, 
And  a  great  silence  filled  the  lonesome  room. 

I  heard  one  whisper,  "  Lo,  the  dawn  is  breaking, 
And  he  has  lost  the  wonder  of  the  day." 
Another  came  whom  I  had  loved  on  earth, 
And  kissed  my  brow  and  brushed  my  dampened  hair. 
Softly  she  spoke,  "  O  that  he  should  not  see 
The  April  that  his  spirit  bathed  in!     Birds 
Are  singing  in  the  orchard,  and  the  grass 
That  soon  shall  cover  him  is  growing  green. 
The  daisies  whiten  on  the  emerald  hills, 
And  the  immortal  magic  that  he  loved 
Wakens  again  —  and  he  has  fallen  asleep." 
Another  said:     "  Last  night  I  saw  the  moon 
Like  a  tremendous  lantern  shine  in  heaven, 


BEYOND    THE   STARS 

And  I  could  only  think  of  him  —  and  sob. 

For  I  remembered  evenings  wonderful 

When  he  was  faint  with  Life's  sad  loveliness, 

And  watched  the  silver  ribbons  wandering  far 

Along  the  shore,  and  out  upon  the  sea. 

O,  I  remembered  how  he  loved  the  world, 

The  sighing  ocean  and  the  flaming  stars, 

The  everlasting  glamour  God  had  given  — 

His  tapestries  that  wrap  the  earth's  wide  room. 

I  minded  me  of  mornings  filled  with  rain 

When  he  would  sit  and  listen  to  the  sound 

As  if  it  were  lost  music  from  the  spheres. 

He  loved  the  crocus  and  the  hawthorn-hedge, 

He  loved  the  shining  gold  of  buttercups, 

And  the  low  droning  of  the  drowsy  bees 

That  boomed  across  the  meadows.     He  was  glad 

At  dawn  or  sundown;  glad  when  Autumn  came 

With  her  worn  livery  and  scarlet  crown, 

And  glad  when  Winter  rocked  the  earth  to  rest. 

Strange  that  he  sleeps  to-day  when  Life  is  young, 

And  the  wild  banners  of  the  Spring  are  blowing 

With  green  inscriptions  of  the  old  delight." 

I  heard  them  whisper  in  the  quiet  room. 

I  longed  to  open  then  my  sealed  eyes, 

[12] 


BEYOND    THE   STARS 

And  tell  them  of  the  glory  that  was  mine. 
There  was  no  darkness  where  my  spirit  flew, 
There  was  no  night  beyond  the  teeming  world. 
Their  April  was  like  Winter  where  I  roamed; 
Their  flowers  were  like  stones  where  now  I  fared. 
Earth's  day !  it  was  as  if  I  had  not  known 
What    sunlight    meant!  .  .  .  Yea,    even    as    they 

grieved 

For  all  that  I  had  lost  in  their  pale  place, 
I  swung  beyond  the  borders  of  the  sky, 
And  floated  through  the  clouds,  myself  the  air, 
Myself  the  ether,  yet  a  matchless  being 
Whom  God  had  snatched  from  penury  and  pain 
To  draw  across  the  barricades  of  heaven. 
I  clomb  beyond  the  sun,  beyond  the  moon; 
In  flight  on  flight  I  touched  the  highest  star; 
I  plunged  to  regions  where  the  Spring  is  born, 
Myself  (I  asked  not  how)   the  April  wind, 
Myself  the  elements  that  are  of  God. 
Up  flowery  stairways  of  eternity 
I  whirled  in  wonder  and  untrammeled  joy, 
An  atom,  yet  a  portion  of  His  dream  — 
His  dream  that  knows  no  end.  .  .  . 

I  was  the  rain, 

[13] 


BEYOND    THE   STARS 

I  was  the  dawn,  I  was  the  purple  east, 
I  was  the  moonlight  on  enchanted  nights, 
(Yet  time  was  lost  to  me)  ;  I  was  a  flower 
For  one  to  pluck  who  loved  me;  I  was  bliss, 
And  rapture,  splendid  moments  of  delight; 
And  I  was  prayer,  and  solitude,  and  hope; 
And  always,  always,  always  I  was  Love. 
I  tore  asunder  flimsy  doors  of  time, 
And  through  the  windows  of  my  soul's  new  sight 
I  saw  beyond  the  ultimate  bounds  of  space. 
I  was  all  things  that  I  had  loved  on  earth  — 
The  very  moonbeam  in  that  quiet  room, 
The  very  sunlight  one  had  dreamed  I  lost, 
The  soul  of  the  returning  April  grass, 
The  spirit  of  the  evening  and  the  dawn, 
The  perfume  in  unnumbered  hawthorn-blooms. 
There  was  no  shadow  on  my  perfect  peace, 
No  knowledge  that  was  hidden  from  my  heart. 
I  learned  what  music  means;  I  read  the  years; 
I  found  where  rainbows  hide,  where  tears  begin; 
I  trod  the  precincts  of  things  yet  unborn. 
Yea,  while  I  found  all  wisdom  (being  dead), 
They  grieved  for  me.  ...     I  should  have  grieved 
for  them! 


PEACE 

'""INHERE  is  a  rumor  of  eternal  Peace; 
•*•       The  wonderful  wild  news  sweeps  through  the 

world 

That  nevermore  loud  drums  shall  beat  alarms, 
Or  bugles  blow  the  awful  songs  of  war. 
There  shall  be  silence  where  the  sabers  clashed, 
And  utter  calm  where  once  the  cannon  roared; 
The  Lord's  green  fields  shall  not  be  wet  with  blood, 
But  white  with  innocent  daisies  in  the  Spring; 
And  where  the  crashing  cavalry  once  plunged 
Our  hearts  shall  hear  the  lyrics  of  the  birds 
When  soft  May  mornings  break  in  years  to  be. 

No  more  shall  men  of  alien  races  march 
With  fiery  hearts  and  madness  in  their  eyes 
To  crush  their  weaker  brothers  'neath  their  heel; 
Nor  women  wait  through  aching  days  of  grief, 
Through  pitiless  hours  of  barren  loneliness 
For  husbands  and  young  sons  to  come  back  home. 
No  more  shall  children  stir  in  the  long  nights, 

[15] 


PEACE 

Dreaming  of  absent  fathers;  and  no  more 
Shall  faithful  hounds  whine  at  bleak  thresholds,  sick 
For  one  whose  feet  fled  when  the  trumpets  called. 
White  Peace,  the  whisper  runs,  shall  wrap  the  earth, 
And  hushed  be  all  the  thundering  cannonade. 

Wise  men  have  dreamed  this  dream;  and  I  have 

dared 

To  dream  it  every  hour  of  the  years. 
When  I  have  stood  high  on  some  starlit  hill, 
And  watched  the  moon  go  her  great  silver  way 
In  silence  that  was  deeper  than  the  heav'ns; 
When  I  have  seen  the  majesty  of  night, 
And  in  my  contemplation  learned  that  life 
Was  but  a  thread  on  Time's  immortal  loom, 
(My  life  the  least  of  all),  and  nations  less 
Than  ribbons  that  are  fashioned  at  the  last 
In  one  divine,  amazing,  sumptuous  plan, 
Then  I  have  wondered  at  our  boast  and  pride, 
And  marveled  at  the  shallowness  of  kings, 
The  madness  of  all  those  who  rise  to  lead 
Their  little  countries  in  tempestuous  strife, 
And  break  men's  bodies,  and  break  women's  hearts. 
Be  swift,  O  laggard  years,  to  bring  that  day 

[16] 


PEACE 

When  Right  shall  be  the  master  of  old  Might, 
And  Love  with  her  soft  processes  shall  see 
Her  hour  triumphant  and  her  legions  large. 
Tear  down  the  bulwarks  of  incessant  Hate, 
And  let  pale  Pity  rise  from  the  dull  dust, 
Her  unfamiliar  eyes  two  flashing  stars 
Emerging  from  the  shadows  of  the  deep. 

But  dream  not  there  shall  be  eternal  Peace, 
Though  red  battalions  have  been  scattered  far, 
And  mighty  armies  lost  like  Autumn  winds. 
Call  in  the  iron  navies  of  the  world, 
And  sink  them  in  the  ocean's  monstrous  heart; 
Sunder  the  bastions  of  the  universe, 
The  watchful  forts  that  face  the  open  sea; 
Still  we  shall  hear  the  rumors  of  great  wars, 
And  see  the  smoke  of  conflict;  we  shall  know 
The  old,  old  battle  of  the  rich  and  poor  — 
The  poor  with  watch-fires  in  the  engine-room, 
And  regiments  of  children  in  the  mills; 
The  rich  with  beacon  lights  upon  their  hearths, 
And  golden  domes  their  perfumed  tents  at  night, 
But  when  wild  Winter  bares  her  icy  sword, 
One  army  shall  remember  Valley  Forge, 

[17] 


PEACE 

And  tremble  at  the  menace  of  the  days; 

One  army  shall  meet  endless  Waterloos 

In  the  long  line  of  years  that  sing  defeat, 

And  in  their  tattered  uniforms  march  on, 

Till  Death,  the  last  Commander,  bids  them  halt. 

There  shall  be  desolation  in  their  eyes, 

And  sorrow  where  they  pitch  their  city  camps; 

And  rags  shall  be  the  emblem  of  their  cause  — 

Sad  banners  that  reveal  their  very  shame. 

Dream  not  of  Peace  eternal  till  there  comes 

Some  hour  supreme  when  these  two  hosts  shall  meet 

In  a  great  whirlwind  of  high  brotherhood ! 


[18] 


AERE  PERENNIUS 
I 

T  NEVER  learned  the  wonder  of  that  lane 
•••       Drenched  with  the  Summer  rain, 
Wherethrough  my  boyish  feet  were  wont  to  pass, 
Until  I  left  it  for  the  passionate  town, 
Marble  and  iron  and  brass, 
Filled  with  all  laughter;  yea,  and  filled,  alas, 
With  life's  immortal  pain. 

Then  I  beheld  its  magic.     Then  I  knew 

How  every  rosebud  grew, 

How  every  leaf  rocked  in  the  wind-blown  noon. 

Far,  far  away  I  saw  it  beneath  the  moon 

On  matchless  nights  of  June, 

When  the  untarnished  silver  of  the  sky 

Poured  through  the  boughs, 

And  two  young  lovers  whispered  deathless  vows. 

And  then  I  heard 

Each  song-enraptured  bird 

[19] 


AERE   PERENNIUS 

Pipe  his  mad  music  as  we  wandered  by. 

I  breathed  the  fragrance  of  the  hawthorn-flowers, 

I  drank  the  joy  that  the  black  cup  of  night 

Poured  for  my  youth's  delight  — 

While   round   about  me   from  great   steeples   and 

towers, 
The  punctual  city  clocks  sounded  the  rushing  hours. 

I  shall  go  back  some  day 

To  the  enchantment  of  that  wildwood  way. 

I  shall  know  once  again  the  scent  of  musk 

In  the  cool  Summer  dusk, 

And  lay  my  head  upon  Night's  pillow;  lay 

My  fevered  body  where  the  blossoms  sway 

Against  the  velvet  curtains  of  the  dark. 

I  shall  see  glow-worms  light  their  little  spark 

In  the  hushed  evening;  hear  the  crickets  croon, 

And  marvel  at  the  moon. 

Yet  will  it  all  be  lovely  when  I  take 

The  ancient  road,  for  ancient  Love's  white  sake? 

Can  Life  repeat  one  word  of  her  old  story, 

Restore  her  tattered  glory, 

Revive  the  dead  allure  of  her  first  days? 

[20] 


AERE   PERENNIUS 

I  am  enamoured  of  the  City's  face! 
And  shameless  I  am  lost  in  her  embrace. 
Her  flashing  fiery  eyes  sweep  and  control 
My  piteous  soul. 


[21] 


AERE   PERENNIUS 


II 

I  shut  the  door  on  the  world's  bright  face; 

I  fled  from  the  race, 

And  I  clung  to  the  breast  of  the  holy  night, 

As  if  the  dark  were  the  bosom  of  God. 

I  knelt  me  down  on  the  clean  green  sod, 

And  I  looked  at  the  constellations  white 

As  they  swung  above  me,  on  that  blue  height; 

I  who  was  lost,  and  crushed,  and  driven, 

Reached  till  it  seemed  I  must  reach  to  heaven 

And  snatch  the  stars  from  the  hands  of  the  Lord! 

I  who  had  lost  myself  in  the  maze 

Of  crowded  ways 

And  terrible  days, 

Had  come  to  the  hour  that  all  men  need 

After  the  grime  and  dust  and  greed. 

Yet  I  said  no  word, 

For  speech  was  vain,  and  I  could  not  pray.  .  .  . 

I  only  knew  I  had  found  the  way, 

And  quiet  and  worn  and  tired  in  the  great  night  I  lay. 


[22] 


AERE   PERENNIUS- 


III 

I  never  knew  the  wonder  of  your  eyes. 

(Forgive  me,  angel  in  a  woman's  guise!) 

Until  I  left  you  for  the  gleam  and  lure 

That  never  can  endure. 

I  left  you  for  adventures  strange  and  wild, 

(A  man  who  was  a  child)  ; 

I  followed  gypsy  patterans  and  trails, 

Oceans  and  sorrows,  joys  and  stinging  gales, 

Lights  in  the  distant  vales ; 

I  followed  gold  and  beauty, 

And  the  bright  moment's  duty; 

I  fared  to  cities  of  immortal  fame, 

And  drank  the  wine  of  shame. 

Hate  o'  the  world  and  Love  o'  the  world  I  found 

In  paths  unknown  of  men. 

In  tumult  and  in  passion  I  was  drowned, 

In  falseness  and  in  fury  I  was  bound; 

Yet  always  at  the  last 

When  the  dread  days  were  past, 

Dreams  of  you  came  again. 

I  who  had  fled  from  your  enduring  heart 

[23] 


AERE   PERENNIUS 

To  wander  ways  apart, 

Knew  the  rich  dream  of  you  ever,  ever  unto  the  end ! 

Why  did  I  leave  all  that  I  loved  the  best 

For  a  sad  quest? 

Why  did  the  wind's  voice  on  the  open  road 

Sing  till  I  stifled  in  my  warm  abode? 

Why  did  the  rivers  call  me,  and  the  sea 

Whisper  of  shadowy  islands  strangely  blest? 

Why  did  I  leave  my  furrow  and  my  friend 

For  dim  uncertainty? 

Why  did  I  then  forget  a  woman's  face, 

A  woman's  eyes, 

And    torture    Love    with    longing?  .  .  .     Love  is 

wise, 

And  we  are  fools  who  leave  her  sheltering-place. 
Yet  Wonder  beckoned  me.     I  followed  her 
With  the  first  leaf's  light  stir. 


[24] 


AERE   PERENNIUS 


IV 

I  came  to  You  from  the  stress  of  life, 

Sick  with  sorrow  and  doubt  and  strife. 

I  dared  to  touch  your  garment's  hem  — 

The  flooding  tears  I  could  not  stem. 

You  had  remained,  like  an  absolute  star; 

You  had  been  firmer  than  the  high  hills; 

You  had  been  constant  though  I  was  gone 

Like  the  pale  dawn. 

Your  mouth  was  the  rose  that  I  had  lost, 

Your  face  was  the  moon  that  I  had  missed, 

Your  eyes  were  the  steadfast  planets  of  heaven, 

Given  me  once  —  and  once  again  given ! 

Your  hair  was  the  cloud  that  God  had  tossed 

Above  the  light  of  your  shining  face. 

Your  breath  was  the  perfume  of  old  crushed  roses 

That  once  I  drank  in  Youth's  garden-closes; 

Your  voice  was  the  bird 

That  my  soul  had  heard 

In  the  wildwood  peace  when  it  sang  the  Word. 

You  were  the  sure  unchanging  sun 

Lighting  me  back  from  the  road  I  had  run. 

[25] 


AERE   PERENNIUS 

I  dared  to  return,  and  breathe  your  name, 
I  dared  to  show  you  my  desperate  shame. 
I  dared  to  dream  that  the  shattered  story, 
The  ancient  good,  the  tattered  glory, 
Could  be  restored.     But  I  dared  not  say 
The  words  that  even  a  Judas  may.  .  .  . 
Yet  in  that  hour  you  kissed  my  lips, 
And  in  the  hushed  darkness  alone  we  lay. 


[26] 


A  BALLAD  OF  SHAME  AND  DREAD 

I 


'"T^HE  rain  rushed  by  in  silver  sheets; 
•*•        I  crossed  the  empty  thoroughfare 
With  visions  of  my  glowing  fire 

When  I  had  climbed  my  lodging  stair. 

The  wind  was  whispering  like  a  ghost, 
The  lights  were  chains  lost  in  a  blur; 

And  as  I  hurried  on  I  heard 

A  voice  that  said,  "  Good  evening,  sir!  " 

We  men  know  well  that  ancient  sound 
On  many  a  fair  and  starlit  night, 

That  strives  to  hail  us  tenderly 
To  prospects  of  a  sad  delight. 

But  on  a  storm-swept  night  like  this 

How  strange  it  was  that  there  should  be 

One  of  that  mighty  army  out, 
Willing  to  sell  herself  to  me! 

[27] 


A   BALLAD 

I  turned,  astonished.     In  her  eyes 
I»saw  the  old,  old  look  of  pain; 

Poor,  painted  girl  whose  face  was  wan 
And  terrible  in  the  falling  rain. 

I  read  a  message  in  her  gaze 
That  I  had  never  read  before; 

And  as  I  paused  the  tempest  shook 
And  rattled  every  neighboring  door. 

It  was  not  passion  that  evoked 
The  sudden  impulse  in  my  heart; 

But  swiftly  from  the  windy  street 
I  drew  the  lonely  girl  apart. 

I  told  her  that  her  eyes  looked  tired; 

I  never  knew  such  eyes  could  be.  .  .  . 
She  smiled  that  tragic  smile  of  hers, 

And  like  a  hound  went  home  with  me. 


A   BALLAD 


II 

The  fire  was  ruddy  on  my  hearth ; 

It  lit  the  corners  of  the  room. 
I  poured  some  sherry  from  a  flask, 

And  drew  two  great  chairs  from  the  gloom, 

And  from  my  cupboard  I  brought  forth 

A  little  supper  —  just  a  snack; 
Mysteriously  she  smiled  when  I 

Pulled  my  best  pipe  down  from  its  rack. 

Outside,  the  wind  howled  through  the  night 

In  desperate  delirium; 
And  on  my  roof  the  rain  beat  fast, 

As  if  upon  a  muffled  drum. 

Her  cloak  fell  back;  her  hood  fell,  too; 

I  saw  her  wonderful  gold  hair, 
A  cataract  of  glowing  fire 

That  shamed  my  hearth's  reflected  flare. 


[29] 


A   BALLAD 

It  was  her  eyes  that  held  me  most  — 
I  never  dreamed  such  eyes  could  be, 

Tired  as  the  dust  of  ancient  queens, 
Or  ruined  cities  by  the  sea. 

How  strangely  from  their  blue-grey  depths 
They  quietly  searched  through  my  own; 

They  held  the  knowledge  of  the  years  — 

How  much,  how  much  they  must  have  known 

She  saw  my  rows  of  friendly  books, 
My  littered  desk,  pipes  and  cigars  — 

O  homely  things,  made  lovelier  now 

Since  they  fell  on  you  —  two  strange  stars ! 

But  always  back  to  me  they  came, 

As  if  in  wonder,  half  afraid; 
Yet  even  on  her  fragile  hands 

No  kiss  of  mine  had  yet  been  laid.    . 


[30] 


A   BALLAD 


III 

Long,  long  we  sat,  without  one  word; 

Somewhere  a  clock  boomed  forth  its  chime. 
I  did  not  count  its  distant  strokes, 

I  did  not  heed  the  hurrying  time. 

At  last  she  stirred.     I  saw  her  lips 
Part  for  an  instant,  and  then  close  — 

Red  lips  whose  crimson  made  them  seem 
The  painted  wraiths  of  some  dead  rose. 

Again  they  parted,  and  she  spoke: 

"  I  never  knew  a  man  before 
Who  had  not  told  me  his  desire 

The  moment  that  I  crossed  his  door. 

"  And  yet  " —  her  tears  fell  like  the  rain  — 

"  You   have   not  claimed  your  old,    grim   right. 

Ah!  can  it  be  you  guess,  strange  friend, 
The  wonder  you  have  wrought  to-night? 

[31] 


A   BALLAD 

"  I  am  as  others  of  my  kind; 

I  fell  —  the  worn-out  tale  of  pain. 
You  knew  me  for  a  harlot  —  still 

You  snatched  me  from  the  wind  and  rain. 

1  You  gave  me  bread,  you  gave  me  wine, 

You  let  me  sit  before  your  fire  — 
I  whom  you  found  upon  the  streets, 
A  pallid  Daughter  of  Desire! 

*  You  pitied  me  —  and  that  was  all !  .  .  . 

Oh,  would  you  guessed  how  my  soul  flew, 
The  instant  that  I  read  your  heart, 

And  dared  —  to  dream  of  loving  you ! 

"  Yes  !  —  do  not  smile !  —  I  dared  to  dream 
The  dream  that  every  harlot  kills, 

Lest  it  should  lift  her  to  the  heights, 
Lift  her  to  the  exalted  hills. 

"  We  cannot  love  —  save  for  an  hour; 

Then  on  to  lesser  loves  we  fare. 
Each  night,  each  week,  each  month,  each  year, 

They  dwindle,  and  we  reap  Despair. 

[32] 


A  BALLAD 

"  That  is  our  dread  —  that  we  may  love ! 

Our  shame  would  drag  a  good  man  down 
If  he  should  ever  deign  to  stoop, 

To  stoop,  and  crown  us  with  a  crown." 

She  rose,  and  trembled  toward  the  door; 

The  fire  was  low,  and  in  the  gloom 
I  only  saw  her  eyes  —  strange  stars 

That  wonderfully  lit  the  room. 

I  followed  her.     "  Girl !  girl !  "  I  cried, 
For  there  was  madness  in  my  soul. 

It  was  too  late.  .  .  .     She  closed  the  door, 
And  down  the  darkened  stairway  stole. 


[33] 


A   BALLAD 


IV 

The  rain  rushed  by;  the  storm  still  blew, 
The  dawn  was  lost  in  a  great  blur; 

I  threw  my  window  wide.     Alas ! 
There  was  no  single  trace  of  her. 

I  never  saw  her  face  again ; 

But  her  strange  eyes  have  haunted  me 
Through  many  a  troubled  day  and  year  .  . 

I  never  dreamed  such  eyes  could  be ! 


[34] 


LOVE  HATH  A  CHALICE 

LOVE  hath  a  chalice,  filled  with  glowing  wine, 
Wherefrom  they  drink  who  have  confessed 

Love's  name; 
And  having  tasted  of  that  draught  divine, 

Their  hearts  go  forth,  more  holy  than  they  came. 

I  have  seen  one  come  softly  from  Love's  priest, 
With  such  exultance  leaving  that  high  place, 

I  dared  not  look  —  I  being  among  the  least  — 
Save  for  one  instant  on  his  hallowed  face. 


[35] 


THE  SWORD 

nPHE  one  I  love  the  best 
•*•     Hath  stabbed  me  —  with  a  jest. 
To  her,  it  was  a  word, 
To  me,  a  shining  sword; 

A  sword  that,  having  slain 
Our  love,  falls  not  again 
Back  to  its  sheath;  for  see, 
Its  bright  blade  rusts  in  me ! 


[36] 


TWO  SONGS  OF  LONDON 
I  —  London  Unvisited  (1910). 

T    ONDON!   I  have  not  heard  your  thundering 

•"— '      voice, 

Save  in  my  dreams.     The  magic  of  your  name, 

Your  wonder  and  your  fame, 

Your  glory  and  your  shame  — 

I  have  not  known 

Save  as  the  winds  and  hurricanes  have  blown 

Rumors  of  your  wild  passion  to  our  shores. 

When  will  my  heart  beat  with  your  iron  heart? 

When  will  my  pulses  quicken  and  rejoice 

With  your  strange  music,  stranger  than  all  art? 

You  are  a  monster  shell  that  holds  the  roar 

Of  the  wild  sea  of  life. 

So  loudly  rings  the  strife 

That  even  across  the  wastes  I  hear  you  sing, 

Faint  as  the  murmur  of  a  robin's  wing 

Above  me  on  a  silver  morn  of  Spring. 

[37] 


TWO    SONGS    OF  LONDON 

I  hear  you  as  a  sick  man  hears  a  fife 
In  a  far  street, 

And  the  faint  marching  of  ten  thousand  feet. 
He  cannot  see  the  pageant  in  the  sun, 
The  flashing  sword  and  gun; 
Only  the  echo  of  the  loud  parade 
Comes    to    his    window    where   he    dreams,    almost 
afraid. 

London !  you  are  the  heart  of  the  wide  world. 
Wrapped  in  grey  mist, 
How  you  must  shine  at  night,  an  amethyst 
Whose  fiery  beams  reach  through  the  terrible  dark 
And  flash  to  every  corner  of  the  earth! 

You  are  a  woman,  with  Time's  awful  mark 

Upon     your     brow.     And     you     are     foul  —  and 

clean !  — 

You  are  a  harlot  —  and  a  holy  queen; 
You  are  the  terror  and  the  joy  of  life  — 
A  desperate  mistress  and  a  patient  wife. 
O  London  !  you  are  false,  and  you  are  true  — 
Evil  or  good,  I  am  in  love  with  you ! 

[38] 


TWO   SONGS    OF   LONDON 


II — London  Faces  (1911). 

I  cannot  forget  those  London  faces, 

Tragic  eyes  that  haunt  me  yet, 
Ghosts  of  men  in  terrible  places, 

Shadows  of  women.   ...  I  cannot  forget. 

On  the  Embankment  they  hurried  by  me, 

Stared  at  the  Thames  —  and  then  moved  on; 

The  evening  fog  that  hovered  nigh  me 
Hid  them  an  instant,  and  they  were  gone. 

At  Charing  Cross  and  Piccadilly 

They  followed  my  hansom  through  the  rain; 
Nights  were  black  and  nights  were  chilly, 

But  thick  with  the  poor  was  each  London  lane. 

Pale,  pinched  faces,  Oh,  how  ye  haunt  me, 
Thin,  gaunt  beggars  with  lifted  hand, 

A  sea  is  between  us,  but  still  ye  want  me, 
Lonely  derelicts  tossed  on  the  Strand. 


[39] 


TWO   SONGS    OF   LONDON 

A  sea  is  between  us!  ...  But  I  remember; 

Though  leagues  divide  us,  ye  haunt  me  yet  — 
Eyes  with  the  age  of  bleak  November, 

O  London  faces,  I  cannot  forget! 


[40] 


AN  EASTER  CANTICLE 

TN  every  trembling  bud  and  bloom 
-••      That  cleaves  the  earth,  a  flowery  sword, 
I  see  Thee  come  from  out  the  tomb, 
Thou  risen  Lord. 

In  every  April  wind  that  sings 

Down  lanes  that  make  the  heart  rejoice; 
Yea,  in  the  word  the  wood-thrush  brings, 

I  hear  Thy  voice. 

Lo !  every  tulip  is  a  cup 

To  hold  Thy  morning's  brimming  wine; 
Drink,  O  my  soul,  the  wonder  up  — 

Is  it  not  thine? 

The  great  Lord  God,  invisible, 

Hath  roused  to  rapture  the  green  grass; 
Through  sunlit  mead  and  dew-drenched  dell 

I  see  Him  pass. 

[41] 


AN   EASTER    CANTICLE 

His  old  immortal  glory  wakes 

The  rushing  streams  and  emerald  hills ; 

His  ancient  trumpet  softly  shakes 
The  daffodils. 

Thou  art  not  dead!     Thou  art  the  whole 
Of  life  that  quickens  in  the  sod; 

Green  April  is  Thy  very  soul, 
Thou  great  Lord  God! 


[42] 


APRIL  MADNESS 

'"INHERE  is  a  time  when  the  young  Year 

•*-       Goes  mad  with  very  ecstasy; 
When  all  the  rapture  of  the  world 
Is  crushed  in  one  wild  melody. 

It  is  the  hour  when  April  comes 

With  silver  flute  and  virelay, 
With  magic  pipe  and  madrigal, 

And  sings  her  happy  heart  away. 

The  bloom  and  wonder  of  the  Spring 
Are  vocal  on  her  golden  tongue; 

The  soul  of  Music  comes  to  earth, 

And  life,  and  love,  and  joy  are  young. 

Join,  O  my  heart,  in  this  wild  song; 

The  jocund  April  sets  you  free. 
Drink  the  old  wine  of  her  new  days  — 

Go  mad  with  very  ecstasy! 

[43] 


WAITING 

T  THOUGHT  my  heart  would  break 
•*•     Because  the  Spring  was  slow. 
I  said,  "  How  long  young  April  sleeps 
Beneath  the  snow!  " 

But  when  at  last  she  came, 

And  buds  broke  in  the  dew, 
I  thought  of  my  dead  love, 

And  my  heart  broke  too! 


[44] 


THE  HEIGHTS 

climbed  the  hills,  the  tumbling  hills, 
The  mighty  shoulders  of  the  world, 
When  May  was  rich  with  daffodils 

And  Spring's  green  banners  were  unfurled, 

We  saw  from  our  exultant  height 

The  quiet  villages  afar, 
The  roads  like  ribbons  clean  and  bright, 

The  river  a  long  silver  bar. 

How  great  from  the  low  plain  we  deemed 
The  wind-swept  summit  of  the  hills; 

How  beautiful  the  valley  seemed 
Up  there  among  the  daffodils ! 


[45] 


HOW  SOFTLY  RUNS  THE  AFTERNOON 

T  TOW  softly  runs  the  afternoon 

•*•  •*•     Beneath  the  billowy  clouds  of  June ! 

How  brightly  every  moment  slips, 
How  lightly  sail  the  great  cloud-ships ! 

How  slowly  all  the  galleons  go 
Within  that  airy  sea  of  snow  — 

Their  white  sails  set,  vast  argosies 
Bound  for  mysterious  Hebrides ! 

Ah,  let  them  vanish  in  the  light 
Beyond  the  sun,  beyond  the  night, 

Faring  to  harbors  strange  and  dim 
Beyond  the  great  world's  utter  rim ! 

I  shall  not  care ;  I  envy  not 

Their  journeyings  to  lands  forgot; 

[46] 


HOW  SOFTLY  RUNS 

For  in  the  wonder  of  your  smiles 
My  heart  is  on  enchanted  isles ; 

And  in  the  silence  of  your  soul 
I  reach  love's  paradisal  goal; 

In  the  soft  pressure  of  your  hands 
I  touch  far  magic  fairy-lands; 

And  in  the  rapture  of  your  kiss 
I  find  the  heavenly  peaks  of  bliss. 

Beneath  the  billowy  skies  of  June 
How  softly  runs  the  afternoon! 


[47] 


THE  HARVEST  OF  THE  SEA 

(In  Memory  of  the  Titanic.) 

'  I  VHE  jealous  Sea  moaned  in  the  April  night: 

u  Lo !  there  are  comrades  hidden  in  my  heart, 
Unfortunates  who  sought  me,  sick  of  life. 
But  I  am  hungry  for  brave  souls ;  I  crave 
Their  warmth  and  passion  through  my  chilling  tides; 
Their  heads  upon  my  bosom,  and  their  hands, 
Like  children's  hands,  about  me  in  the  dark. 
I  need  their  blood  in  my  cold  loneliness." 

A  Titan  sailed  her  weary  leagues  of  foam, 
Unknowing  her  strange  wish,  her  mad  desire. 
But  there  was  menace  in  the  starlit  night, 
And  sudden  doom  upon  deceiving  paths, 
And  a  wild  horror  on  the  mighty  deep. 

The  grey  Sea  laughed  —  and  drew  those  brave  men 

down, 
And  braver  women  who  but  mocked  at  Death, 

[48] 


THE    HARVEST    OF    THE    SEA 

Seeing  that  Love  went  with  them.     These  the  souls 
The  awful  Sea  desired!     These  the  hearts 
She  waited  for  in  that  stupendous  hour! 
They  were  enough  to  warm  the  Arctic  wastes, 
To  fill  with  furnace  heat  the  frozen  zones, 
And  fire  the  very  Sea  that  was  their  grave. 

But  dream  not,  mighty  Ocean,  they  are  yours ! 
We  have  them  still,  those  high  and  valiant  men 
Who  died  that  others  might  reach  ports  of  peace. 
Not  in  your  jealous  depths  their  spirits  roam, 
But  through  the  world  to-day,  and  up  to  heaven  I 


[49] 


GLORY  SHALL  FOLLOW  GLORY 

I 

EATS    died  —  who    knows?  —  in    the    wild 

bloom  of  Youth, 
And  learned  all  Truth, 
That  "  Adonais  "  might  be  sadly  sung!  — 
That  through  the  halls  of  heaven,  from  Shelley's 

tongue, 

That  royal  dirge 
Might  thrill  and  surge, 
Deathlessly  young! 
Perhaps  a  poet  passed 
That  one  might  tell  at  last 
In  this  immortal  song  his  beauty  and  glory; 
Chant  his  lament 
For  shining  days  soon  spent, 
In  a  great  glowing  story. 


[50] 


GLORY   SHALL   FOLLOW 

II 

Does  Love  thus  go, 

(Whither,  we  do  not  know), 

That  one  may  sing  the  grandeur  of  Love's  name? 

That  one  who  felt  his  fire  and  his  flame 

May  stand  in  adoration  at  his  pall, 

And  in  a  song  supreme,  majestical, 

Voice  the  eternal  wonder  of  the  dead? 

Ere  Love  has  fled, 

Silent  are  we  before  his  face  divine; 

But  when  the  lamps  are  wasted, 

And  the  last  cup  is  tasted, 

And  stern  Death  sets  her  crown  upon  his  head, 

There  is  a  singer  who  must  sing  Love's  praise, 

Record  his  dreams  and  days, 

And  keep  the  light  forever  before  his  shrine. 


[51] 


AN  AUGUST  NIGHT  IN  THE  CITY 

T   KNOW  a  sad  park  where,  on  breathless  nights, 
Throng  those  whom  through  the  day  the  hot 

sun  smites  — 

The  pallid  poor,  unlettered  and  alone, 
Whose  hearts  are  hotter  than  the  aching  stone. 

This  is  their  dormitory;  here  they  fare 
After  the  Summer  noon's  relentless  glare. 
See !  here  they  crowd  like  sheep  without  a  fold, 
While  all  around  them  rings  the  city's  gold. 

But  there  are  coasts  beside  a  lonely  sea, 
And  hills  and  glens  and  many  a  wind-swept  lea 
Where  man  has  never  broken  the  silence  deep.  .   .  . 
Yet  here  to-night  an  army  falls  asleep ! 


[52] 


DUST  AND  DREAM 

VEN  as  rust 

Hides  the  sword's  gleam, 
So  earth's  dull  dust 

Obscures  heaven's  dream. 

Yet  do  I  trust 

Death's  hour  supreme; 
For,  being  dust, 

I  shall  live  the  dream ! 


[53] 


NEVERTHELESS 

I 

TTE  heard  the  fifes  at  the  end  of  the  street, 

*"  •*•      He  heard  the  marching  of  thousands  of  feet; 

The  rush  and  the  murmur,  the  beat  of  the  drum, 

The  sudden  strange  delirium; 

He  saw  the  gold  banners  and  flying  flags, 

The  rapturous  faces  of  lads  and  hags; 

The  light  romance,  and  the  gleam  of  it  all, 

The  wonder,  the  magic,  the  dream  of  it  all. 

But  he  did  not  see  the  lonely  campfires  burning 

On  distant  fields ;  and  he  forgot  the  yearning 

Of  aching  hearts  when  nights  were  filled  with  dread; 

He  did  not  see  the  piteous,  helpless  dead. 

He  did  not  think  of  sorrow  and  alarms, 

The  empty  years  that  mocked  his  empty  arms; 

He  did  not  think  of  many  a  blood-stained  hill.  .   .  . 

Yet  had  he  thought,  he  would  have  followed  still ! 

[54] 


NEVER THELESS 


II 

She  heard  the  story  —  old  as  the  years ; 
She  waited  through  nights  of  girlhood  fears 
For  the  dream  to  come,  as  come  it  must, 
And  make  a  glory  of  the  dust. 
She  said,  "  No  love  shall  be  like  ours  — 
Life's  roadway  bright  with  eternal  flowers." 
She  saw  the  beauty,  the  light  of  it  all, 
And  the  terrible,  splendid  might  of  it  all. 

But  she  did  not  know  of  days  and  nights  of  weeping, 
Heart-breaking  absence  and  slow  shadows  creeping 
Around  her  couch  to  hide  Love's  blazing  light. 
She  did  not  know  Love  has  its  day  —  and  night. 
And  she  forgot  the  thorns  amid  the  roses, 
Forgot  that  sometimes  Love's  book  softly  closes; 
She  did  not  know  Love's  sorrows  blind  and  kill.  .  .  . 
Yet  had  she  known,  she  would  have  followed  still ! 


[55] 


RISEN  INDEED 

T  TOW  can  I  doubt  that  He  is  risen  indeed, 
•*•  •••      Since  at  the  Spring's  exultant  birth 

Through  His  green  earth 
I  see  the  flowering  of  each  hidden  seed, 
And  feel  again  the  old  immortal  need? 

How  can  I  doubt,  when  through  white  lanes  I  pass, 
Seeing  the  ancient  beauty  on  the  boughs 
In  God's  great  house, 

Hearing  the  bells  at  this  Aprilian  Mass, 

Seeing  the  congregation  of  the  grass? 

How  can  I  doubt?     Nay,  let  me  bow  my  head, 
Before  the  wonder  of  the  April  flame, 
In  tears  and  shame, 

Since  for  one  instant  (O  black  moment  of  dread!) 
I  dared  to  think  that  the  great  Lord  was  dead! 


[56] 


THE  MYSTERY 

'  I  VHEY  who  have  loved  too  well  —  and  been  be- 

•*•        trayed, 
Tried  in  the  fire  and  utterly  dismayed, 

Strange,  is  it  not,  how  they  return  to  Love, 
And  bare  their  hearts  to  his  great  gleaming  blade ! 


[573 


PENANCE 

COMETIMES  it  seems  to  me  the  sea  must  ache 
^     With    the    vast    loneliness    its    great    heart 

knows  — 

Its  mighty  beat,  its  thundering  surge  and  sway 
Lost  in  the  empty  spaces,  in  the  dark 
Of  desolate  nights  unpierced  by  any  star. 
On  coasts  forlorn  it  sheds  its  tears  in  vain; 
Up  storm-swept  crags  it  sweeps  with  joy,  and  then 
Falls  back  to  sob  in  the  old  terrible  way. 

Who  knows  but  that  for  all  the  voiceless  dead 
The  sea  has  grasped  and  hidden  in  its  heart, 
It  now  must  pay  with  this  wild  loneliness; 
Must  beat  forever  on  far  solitudes 
Of  rock  and  ruin  and  unresponsive  isles, 
And  sing,  colossal  sinner  of  the  world, 
An  endless  chant  for  its  unending  crimes? 


[58] 


THE  POOL 

'  I  VO  that  great  poppy-pool 

•*•       Whence  all  pale  visions  come, 
Sleep  led  me  only  yesternight, 
Her  white  lips  sealed  and  dumb. 

I  found  them  there  —  old  days 

That  I  had  lost  erewhile; 
And  lo!  I  found  one  dearer  thing  — 

My  vanished  Love's  sad  smile. 

I  drank  of  that  blest  pool 

Whose  waters  sang  and  tossed. 

Asleep,  I  knew  the  ecstasy 
Of  all  I  ever  lost. 


[59] 


YOUTH  IS  CRUEL 


is  cruel  to  the  old. 
See  it  flaunt  its  locks  of  gold 
In  the  windy  morns  of  Spring; 
Hear  its  laughter  —  that  mad  ring 
Mocking  Age's  echoing. 
See  its  jubilant  light  skip 
And  its  own  good  fellowship, 
Crowding  old  ones  from  its  way. 
Youth  is  cruel,  lackaday! 

Youth  is  cruel,  youth  is  blind; 
Nay,  it  would  not  be  unkind. 
Youth  is  heedless,  —  that  is  all, 
As  it  sings  its  madrigal; 
Only  crabbed  Age  is  small. 
Youth  knows  not  its  mighty  strength 
Till  a  sad  day  comes  at  length 
When  it  whispers  in  the  cold, 
"  Youth  is  cruel  —  to  the  old  !  " 

[60] 


THE  DEAD  MARCH 

(In  Gotterdammerung.) 

only  did  I  hear 

The  thundering  chords  that  swept  round  Sieg 
fried's  bier, 

But  I  heard,  mysteriously  low, 
The  far  and  solemn  tread 
Of  the  old  army  of  the  mighty  dead  — 
They  who  went  marching  long  and  long  ago 
Toward  the  great  blinding  glory  of  God's  place. 
I  saw  each  beautiful  face, 
More  beautiful  now  in  death; 
I  heard  their  quiet  footfalls  as  they  passed, 
I  saw  triumphant  banners  in  the  sun 
As  one  by  one 

They  filed  before  me,  happy,  happy  at  last. 
I  heard  faint  bugles  and  far  mystic  singing, 
I  heard  the  echo  of  a  lark's  song  ringing 
Above  the  hushed  solemnity  and  peace 
Of  this  slow  march  that  sang  the  Great  Release. 

[61] 


THE   DEAD   MARCH 

They  moved  before  me  —  the  exultant  dead! 

One  came,  a  glistening  helmet  on  his  head, 

Then  popes  and  kings  in  white  and  purple  and  red; 

And  legions  from  old  battles,  emperors 

And  mighty  captains  from  adventurous  wars; 

High  poets,  and  sad  seekers  of  the  Grail 

With  countenances  pale; 

Imperial  hosts  that  dazed  me  with  their  glory; 

Silent,  yet  eloquent  with  Death's  new  story  — 

A  wonder  on  their  lips  I  could  not  read, 

I  who  was  living  indeed. 

I  saw  them  pass  —  sinner  and  saint  and  sage, 
Sovereign  and  beggar  of  an  ancient  age, 
Tatters  and  pomp  one  at  the  final  hour  — 
One,  one  at  last  in  that  vast  harmony, 
The  concentrated  utterance  of  sound 
That  every  falseness  drowned 
In  a  wide  peace,  immortally  profound, 
Beyond  the  borders  of  Immensity. 


[62] 


SUNDAY 

VJTfHEN  I  was  a  very  little  lad 

I  used  to  go  walking  with  my  Dad. 
Sunday!  yes,  that  was  the  day  for  me, 
The  day  of  days,  when  Dad  was  free. 

He  always  bought  me  a  red  balloon 
That  seemed  to  me  as  big  as  the  moon. 
And  he  always  took  me  to  some  fine  shop 
And  gave  me  a  glass  of  ginger-pop. 

He  took  me  out  in  the  country,  too, 
Where  buttercups  and  daisies  grew; 
And  on  one  big  bridge  we  used  to  stand 
And  watch  the  boats  —  it  was  Fairyland. 

Dad  died  when  I  was  still  quite  small. 
I  think  I  missed  him  the  most  of  all; 
And  though  I've  seen  'most  every  sight 
Since  I  was  such  a  tiny  wight, 


SUNDAY 

I  often  long  for  those  Sunday  walks, 

My  red  balloon,  and  our  simple  talks. 

And  I've  sought,  but  I  never  can  seem  to  find 

Those  curious  streets  that  used  to  wind 

To  that  wonderful  bridge  on  which  we  stood, 
And  that  flower-filled  meadow  by  the  wood. 
Yet  I  know  if  I  found  them,  the  tears  would  start, 
And  I  think  it  would  almost  break  my  heart. 


THE  RUSH  HOUR 

is  the  big  excitement  of  their  lives! — 
This  teeming  rush-hour  —  six  o'clock  at  night. 
I  never  saw  such  tired  eyes ;  I  never  saw  such  faces, 
So  weary  at  the  close  of  a  hard  day. 
Those  bright  electric  bulbs  in  the  thundering  Subway 
Bring  out  the  tragic  lines  on  their  tragic  brows  — 
Girls  old  before  their  time,  dizzily  swaying 
In  that  awful  conglomeration  of  human  beings. 
Those  merciless  lights  ! —  hiding  no  single  blemish, 
Placed  there  with  their  flaming  candle  power 
So  that  the  throngs  may  read  their  evening  papers. 
But  some  of  the  girls  are  far  too  tired  to  read. 
They  only  hang  on  the  straps, 
Sick  with  the  noise  of  the  train  speeding  up-town, 
Yet  glad  to  hear  it,  since  it  means  to  them 
That  every  moment  they  are  nearer  their  sad  homes. 

It  seems  to  me  they  are  always  rushing  — 

The  forlorn  sweat-shop  workers,  the  tired  sales-girls, 

The  pale  clerks  who  light  a  cigarette 

[65] 


THE   RUSH   HO  UR 

The  moment  that  they  leave  the  crowded  Subway  — 
Hurrying,  rushing,  pushing,  shoving, 
Always  moving  in  a  monotonous  procession. 
In  the  morning  they  rush  to  perform  miserable  oc 
cupations 

In  factories  and  lofts  and  darkened  rooms; 
And  in  the  evening  when  the  whistle  blows 
They  rush  for  the  same  inevitable  cars 
That  hurl  them  to  their  undesired  homes. 
Always    these    tragic    people    are    rushing,    rush 
ing.  .  .  . 

But  some  day  they  shall  go  slowly,  very  slowly, 
One  at  a  time,  to  a  distant  quiet  place  — 
The  only  leisurely  ride  they  shall  ever  know. 


[66] 


THE  TWO  OLD  MEN 

'  I  SHERE  was  something  quaint  and  lovely  about 

the  two  old  men, 

As  they  sat  together  in  the  crowded  car. 
I,  and  the  other  young  people  around  me, 
Watched  them,  and  heard  their  quiet  conversation. 

We  gathered,  in  that  little  trip  downtown 
Through  the  great  city,  thundering  with  pain, 
That  these  two  wise  yet  simple  comrades  knew 
Each  other  long  ago,  and  here  revived, 
Through  some  exquisite  accident, 
Their  boyish  friendship  after  many  years. 

We  caught  but  fragments  of  their  pleasant  talk, 
But  quite  enough  to  love  them  for  the  way 
They  both  recalled  the  record  of  old  times. 

And  I  thought :     When  I  am  very  old  and  very  tired, 
I  hope  God  sends  to  me  so  naturally 
An  old,  old  crony  to  renew  lost  days; 


THE    TWO    OLD   MEN 

A  comrade  whom  I  knew  when  I  was  young, 
One,  unashamed  as  I,  to  show  his  heart 
Wholly  to  me,  unmindful  of  the  crowd, 
The  curious  crowd  that  might  be  all  about  us, 


[68] 


ANNIVERSARIES 

A  LWAYS  it  is  a  woman  who  remembers 

Of  two  who  might  forget  a  certain  day, 
Whether  it  be  of  Love's  bygone  Novembers, 
Or,  happily,  out  of  the  heart  of  May. 

Always  a  woman  sits  at  Life's  cold  embers, 
Seeking  the  gem  where  once  it  shining  lay; 

Always  it  is  a  woman  who  remembers, 
While  heedless  goes  a  man  upon  his  way. 


[69] 


NOEL! 

I 

HARK  to  each  wonderful  bell, 
Singing,  "Noel!  Noel!"— 
The  jubilant  chimes  in  a  thousand  towers, 
Swinging  in  Winter  like  iron  flowers 
Lost  in  the  cold  December  hours. 
They  sing  and  swing, 
And  the  old  Word  bring, 
The  wise  old  Message  that  never  dies, 
Under  the  steadfast  starlit  skies. 


[70] 


NOEL! 

II 

The  loud  winds  tell 

It  is  our  Noel, 

And  they  echo  the  song  of  each  clamouring  bell. 

They  shout  in  the  darkness  over  the  snow, 

And  through  the  world  the  tidings  blow. 

The  bells  are  the  great  glad  voice  of  the  Lord, 

And  the  winds  are  His  angels  in  sweet  accord, 

Whose  whispers  surge  and  sweep  through  the  night 

Where  the  watchers  wait  for  the  ancient  Light. 

"Noel!     Noel!" 

Sings  each  sudden  bell. 

From  the  flowers 

In  the  towers 

Come  a  wild  "  Noel !" 


NOEL! 


Ill 


It  is  Christ's  own  hour, 

It  is  Christ's  Noel, 

And  the  sad  world  faints  in  the  wonderful  swell. 

The  voice  of  God  rings  down  the  years 

To  hush  our  old  discordant  fears. 

"Noel!     Noel!"     I  hear  Him  call, 

u  A  time  of  Peace  hath  come  to  all !  " 

His  rapture  shakes  the  moonlit  hills, 

His  glory  wakes  our  souls,  and  thrills 

Beyond  the  world,  beyond  the  sea, 

To  glory  and  Infinity. 

"Noel!    Noel! 

It  is  Christ's  own  hour!  " 

Thunders  each  bell  like  an  iron  flower 

In  every  far  and  wind-blown  tower. 


[72] 


THE  LAST  SLEEP 

COME  shining  April  I  shall  be  asleep, 
^     And  over  me  the  ancient  joy  shall  pass; 
I  shall  not  see  young  Spring  dance  down  the  world 
With  ribbons  of  green  grass. 

But  I  shall  dream  of  all  that  I  have  lost  — 
Breath  of  the  wind,  immortal  loveliness, 

Wild  beauty  of  the  sunlight  on  the  hills, 
Now  mine  no  less 

Because  I  slumber.     Nay,  but  more  than  mine, 
Since  I  a  part  of  them  shall  strangely  be.  ... 

Only,  I  ask,  when  the  pink  hawthorn  breaks, 
That  one  shall  think  of  me. 


[73] 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $I.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


DEC    8    1934 

JUL    22  1946 

j 

. 

LD  21-100m-8,'34 

Towne,C.H. 
Beyond  tir 


stars 


959 

T744 

b 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


